


Like Waking From Nightmares Still Shaken

by mayamaia



Series: Old Man [1]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Album: Jazz (Queen), Families of Choice, Gen, I really never thought I'd write RPF but, Impossible fidelity conundrum, Mountain Studios Montreux, Possibly Pre-Slash, Time Travel, Tour De France 1978, Trapped in the Past, We love you madly, lots of one-shots later actually but most gen, probably a one-shot later, when you have all of Queen squabbling in your head it's the only way to make them shut up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-24 19:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21504175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayamaia/pseuds/mayamaia
Summary: Brian May of the present day is in 1978, in his own younger self, with absolutely no evidence to show him how he got there or if he's even sane.  He will not find any either, apart from knowing things before he should and not remembering things that should have been very recent for his younger self.  He's just going to have to live with it, with everything he's gained back and everything that he's lost.It's easy to change events.  It's impossible to preserve events you still want to happen.
Relationships: Anita Dobson/Brian May, Brian May & Freddie Mercury, Brian May/Chrissie Mullen, Dominique Beyrand/Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury/David Minns, John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff
Series: Old Man [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1550002
Comments: 130
Kudos: 100





	1. Calibrating

**Author's Note:**

> A Note on Historical Accuracy: I give up.
> 
> Goodbye SuperBear Studios, I found out about you too late and then you were too frustrating to research. Likewise I couldn’t find the birthdates of Michael and Laura Deacon in a quick Google search and we don’t get nosy about the Deacon family so their birthdates were placed for plot convenience instead. Maybe this is evidence that it’s a parallel universe prior even to Brian’s arrival, and Brian’s memory just sucks enough that he doesn’t quite realize. A happier thought, if he could have it. Alas, he won’t.

He was trying to be scientific about everything, but Brian May had been in the past, in his own past, for eight days so far and was struggling against Clarke’s law. Whatever had left him in 1978, as his younger self but with memories of more than forty years of future, well it might as well have been magic for all Brian could comprehend it.

That or insanity, or a dream so vivid he believed its prophecies. He was trying very hard to prove his own perceptions of reality either true or false, but he had no evidence of any kind, nothing to work with beyond “Well. It all FEELS real.” And that was about the limit of what science or philosophy could say about human perception anyway.

Mostly he was struggling not to let on that something very strange had happened to him, to stave off whatever adverse reactions his family might have to an incautious revelation.

Really, reeling from hearing his dad’s voice for the first time in decades, and actually seeing his mum looking young and strong in her fifties, he had had no time in all these mental gymnastics to spare for planning how to change his world, now he was so far back in it.

* * *

He had handled the first few days well enough. He had opened his eyes to discover himself at his old kitchen table, looking at a young Chrissie tired from late night feedings. Perhaps the instinctive caution she had come to inspire in their last years together helped him hold his tongue while he tried to get his bearings.

She was the worst of his dilemmas.

Freddie was no dilemma at all. He was here, and his hair was still a few inches long, which Brian had tried not to stare at yesterday when he’d first seen him again on their way to Switzerland. Over years of documentaries and interviews and the film, Brian had come to associate the longer hair with Fred being safe. He was still safe, that was the thing, and the only trick would be how to keep him that way. There was no choice involved, except in how to manage it.

Chrissie, however: recent mother and the mother of two more children not yet born.

And he was years and years before meeting Anita. Brian didn’t even know if the man he had been in 1978 would have paid proper attention to her - or rather improper attention - and the man who was in 1978 now certainly also wasn’t the man she had fallen for in 1985. And how did fidelity even work from this distance of years? In these circumstances? He found himself thankful that Chrissie was too tired to make that a challenge.

How did fidelity even work, maybe he should pay some attention to John, he’d gotten it right somehow.

* * *

In the studio, however, his eye was drawn to Roger. The Roger in Brian’s head had aged as nobody else in the group had, and this younger version of him was instead so very like every one of the younger Taylor clan. Laughing and joking around, then his face going serious and focused as he played, and so young, so young…

Brian almost called him Rufus right then. Hardly remembered what he was playing but his fingers knew and then Roger was yelling at him for getting it wrong during Mustapha (he had played the arrangement for stage, not the version they had recorded, as errors went it was minor) and in his effort to calm Roger down he had said, more gently than he would have to an older Roger, MUCH more gently than he would once have answered this version, “Look, Ru-“ and then he’d halted and Roger’s annoyance and Freddie’s amused peacemaking washed over him like a waterfall and he had had to put down the old lady and get a breath of air.

It was all of their kids. How could he change ANYTHING?

Then Fred came out to check that he was alright, and he really wanted to cry.


	2. Adjustment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now I'm here... now what?

For all the terrible, terrifying implications of his presence in the past, sometimes they were eclipsed by terribly mundane ones. They were producing themselves but didn’t own Mountain Studios yet. This was the first album they had recorded here. The rest of the boys were enamoured with the lake, the town, it was new, it was special to everyone… Brian didn’t have the keys to the studio and couldn’t just wander in at night, he would have to ask the actual owners to let him in.

So he’d had to wait until the next morning came and instead of privately playing with the mixes in the silent darkness of midnight, he had wandered out onto the pier to stargaze a little. Brian had forgotten to appreciate that at Montreux when he was this young, probably. Not that his memory was so good as to be sure.

But as the sun had risen, and the world had grown warmer about him, Brian had turned back to the casino and gotten someone to let him in. He was relearning their old equipment, trying not to resent having to do without ProTools for a few decades again.

Brian had few notes for the songs he was supposedly in the process of writing, but as long as he didn’t introduce full completed songs or something from a previous album to the group, he shouldn’t raise suspicion. Still, he played around with recording a bit of Dvorak instead, testing what he could still do, how he could slow down or speed up the tape. He vaguely remembered speeding up his voice for a woman’s part here - it must have been in Leaving Home Ain’t Easy, he had notes for that, and wasn’t THAT going to be strange to record again. Now, after everything and before.

It had been some hours, he didn’t know how long, when the outer door swung open to admit cheerful chattering: John’s voice, listing off cities, something about competitors - oh! Oh. They were talking about the Tour de France. What DAY was it?

Brian took out the tape and walked over to join them just in time to hear Freddie say “Just THINK of it, darling, all those fat bottomed girls just flying by!”

Brian startled for a moment, then on autopilot said, “Just your type, Fred.” Freddie glanced over, pressed his tongue into his cheek, raised his eyebrows for an instant and smiled. _Oh my god,_ Brian thought as Freddie turned back to Roger, _It’s still a men’s-only race._

He was also suddenly aware that he had a timestamp to address. Had he written his song before or after Freddie’s? Did Freddie start writing before or after the race, and wasn’t there some kind of pressure he was irked at? Should Brian be a bit more of an arsehole if he wanted to preserve Bicycle Race as he remembered it?

While Brian quietly panicked over whether the conversation had originally gone the same way and incidentally what exactly counted as accidentally outing Freddie, the others continued blithely on without him. John was planning to watch the race, and Freddie was saying he’d join him, while Roger thought he could find better girls to do with his time, then the conversation turned elsewhere as they set up for the day.

“Brian, what were you working on, lovvie?” Freddie asked.

“Oh nothing really. Testing the equipment with a bit of guitar work. Not anything original.”

“Mind if I have a bit of a listen to it? Who did you cover?”

Brian shook his head, “It’s not a rock cover, just a bit of classical music.”

John’s eyebrows rose and he turned away, biting his lip. Roger leaned over to bang his head on his snare and comically moan, “Oh no he’s got you.”

“Shut it, Rog,” Brian hissed.

“Yes do hush, Roger,” Freddie said, “What piece is it?”

“Just a bit of Dvorak, the New World,” Brian said, smiling down at the guitar.

Freddie gestured, a toss of a hand, “There, see that isn’t even really Classical, it’s more the Romantic Era.”

“Ooooh Romantic!” Roger said, while Deaky tittered. Brian rolled his eyes, and soon they all got down to playing.

* * *

It was proving difficult to remember to call home day to day. Brian couldn’t understand how his younger self had decided to leave the country only a few short weeks after Jimmy was born, but phone calls meant talking with Chrissy, and talking with Chrissy hadn’t been something he looked forward to for decades. Pretending he was young and in love simply seemed beyond his capacity, especially by voice alone. But he couldn’t miss his son for all this time again.

He used the upcoming race to entice her to come to Montreux, for a few days at least. Perhaps he could convince her to extend the time a little longer if he made the trip easier for her.

He raised the subject in front of the others during a break from working on Jealousy, inspiring Freddie to suggest “She should have a friend along to help with things. I could ask my friend David -“

“Not David,” Brian said, thinking _He got violent with you and you hospitalized him for it._ “Maybe your other friend… Joe?” Brian always liked Joe Fanelli, and he was pretty sure Freddie had just moved him into the flat he had previously shared with David Minns.

Freddie blinked at him a few times, opened his mouth as if to say something, then obviously changed his mind and shook his head. “I’d be delighted to have Joe visit, Bri, but I don’t think Chrissie knows him yet. I’m rather surprised you do.”

“Oh. Uh…”

Freddie laughed, “I must have been telling stories and you latched onto the name. But I didn’t know you were so against David, dear.”

Brian mumbled, “Well, uh. I don’t think he and Chrissie ...I don’t think he would enjoy being Chrissie’s servant for a few days. He wouldn’t have time for ...himself, I guess.”

Freddie’s brow furrowed, “I do suppose I was mostly thinking he would enjoy seeing the local sights. But I do technically employ him, it can’t be wrong to give him the occasional job to do.”

John piped up, “I’ve been talking to Ronnie and she’s keen to watch the race too. If they have one another to lean on, they won’t need as much outside assistance.”

Brian faintly remembered Veronica coming to visit, and agreed quickly. There wasn’t anything he could do for David that was subtle anyway.

* * *

When all was said and planned and done, the peaceful visit Brian had hoped for had grown a whole entourage, and instead of watching from Montreux, they’d all head over to Lausanne to see the cyclists finish the stage with a little more drama. Veronica was coming, with both John’s boys, and David AND Joe so Mary back in England would be feeding the cats, and somebody had arranged a security team and he was pretty sure Roger felt left out so if Dom didn’t show up somewhere in there Brian would find a hat and eat it with - with teriyaki sauce. And rice.

They’d all be arriving next Tuesday, the day before the race was due to come through. Brian needed a distraction, so it seemed a good time to introduce Freddie to Fat Bottomed Girls.

He hadn’t remembered Fred could be so delighted. Brian knew he had missed it, that it had made bitter days brighter, but it was beyond the capacity of his memory to feel Freddie’s glee in person again.

Freddie’s head was thrown back with broad laughter, the hand holding the lyrics stretched forward for balance, while his left hand wrapped around his middle. “I can’t believe you were cooking up something like this, darling. Oh this is going to be marvelous fun, Bri, you really do love me!”

Brian just grinned back at him, hearing in his head, _Well DUH!_ in Adam’s light little California accent. When laughing like this, Freddie and Adam were really very similar people. _You are going to meet him,_ Brian thought, _You are going to be alive and someday you are going to meet him._ He laughed happily at himself, and softly rapped his knuckles against the body of the Red Special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how sometimes people will write someone hearing Freddie in their head when they're talking to Adam? I've gotta say it's fun to turn that around the other way.


	3. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Families and "friends" (boyfriends) arrive for the first big change in the timeline, and everybody settles in or prepares for the trip the next day. Brian tries to spend time with his son. Roger is obviously (but conveniently) a CHILD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Logistics mean Prenter is there. We are treating him as a living breathing human - which was true.
> 
> Historical note: Apparently Freddie had gotten in some fights with David over David spending time alone with Prenter. So we're going to be using that. Also there are images of Freddie spending time with Joe and David at the same time, so we are assuming that at least on some level they got along.

Wives and babies and burly men piled out of cars under the light, warm rain that brushed Montreux every couple of days. The others weren’t used to it, and Roger joked, “I’d just had a shower and here I am having another.”

“Can’t have a wank in this one, though,” said Paul Prenter, and as Roger feigned offense, Brian glanced over at him nervously. He had only partially remembered Paul as a real, breathing person, instead of as a backdrop, an event in their lives. If Brian had felt minorly uncomfortable about allowing the cloak of villainy to fall so heavily on his memory, he felt much worse seeing Paul now, when really he hadn’t yet done anything shameful.

There, in a row, were Freddie, Joe and Paul. They’d all die within about a year of each other. Brian shivered, and told himself that their best guess was that Freddie had caught it in New York, a few years from now, and he had no reason to fear them all being in one place like this.

Then the implications hit him differently. Saving Freddie might just mean saving Joe and others, but if Brian was going to be a good man and not selfish… _Crap,_ he thought, _I should try to save Paul. How would I even go about that?_

His musings were interrupted by Chrissie, who had been trying to wrestle the pram out of the trunk with poor ceremony, coming to pass the baby off to him, so little Jimmy now took Brian’s full attention. He was so very tiny, it was hard to believe this would be the young man Brian knew as his son. Such a backwards sentiment from every previous one Brian had felt for his children growing up, but still less disorienting than just looking at Roger.

“You are such a wonderful little boy,” Brian whispered to Jimmy, “And you will have so many wonderful cousins, and…” he trailed off. Best not to think too hard about that. He held his son a little tighter, and tried to steady his breathing. Jimmy started to squirm, and Brian tried to relax.

“That’s the problem with men,” Ronnie was saying, “No instinct for holding a baby. You want to hand him to me while Chrissie sets up the pram?” Her own children were at her feet, Michael in a stroller and Robert clutching her pantleg.

“No, I’ve got him,” Brian said, turning his shoulder so Veronica couldn’t just pluck Jimmy out of his grip. Then Chrissie was there to do it anyway.

Various assistants pulled out all the luggage and trundled off to put it in their rooms at the villa Fred had rented on the lake, and the band et alia strolled over to the casino restaurant for lunch.

* * *

Once everybody was tucked into a private room with a large table, and tucking into the buffet, the talk turned to their trip over to Lausanne.

“How are we planning to watch the race?” Veronica was juggling her meal and Michael’s bottle and table conversation all at once, and not looking remotely bothered by it all. “We ought to try and take over a comfortable cafe or garden by the road, since the racers will be coming through for hours.”

“And leave a lookout, so we don’t miss anything!” Freddie said. “That can be your job, Robert,” he said with a wink to the toddler on John’s lap. John leaned over to ask the little boy what he thought of that, and Robert nodded seriously though he plainly didn’t know what was going on.

The door opened and closed, and Crystal, Roger’s roadie, came in. He went over to Roger and said something in a low voice, and Roger nodded with such a studiously neutral face that Brian was sure they’d all learn what that was about soon enough.

He was equally sure it wasn’t what Roger said next: “Dom should get here in the morning, so I can truck over to the city with you and then we’ll split off to do our own thing.”

“What about tonight?” asked David, “Any nightlife in this town to speak of?”

“You’re IN the casino,” said Freddie, “We are the nightlife, effectively. But we can explore Lausanne after the race passes us by.”

“I can ask around, find us some place hot,” Paul said with a wink to David.

Freddie frowned at Paul and David a little, and then leaned up close into Joe’s shoulder. “We can have plenty of fun here, too. Maybe if we get Roger sloshed enough, he’ll snog Brian again.”

Roger screeched. “That never happened, and even if it did I don’t believe it!”

Freddie whispered, loud enough that the whole table could hear, “Notice that he doesn’t ask Brian to tell him for sure.”

Roger’s voice rose even higher in annoyance, “It never happened!”

Brian laughed, “Come on Rog, we all know what a gorgeous woman you make.” _Well we WILL._

“Fuck off Brian. ...sorry Ronnie.” The apology did little to dim the glare Veronica had shot at Roger for his language.

“I guarantee you Dominique would adore it,” Brian added, fluttering his eyelashes.

Roger looked suddenly thoughtful, then smirked. “You know what, she probably would.”

Chrissie looked like she would rather be anywhere else at the moment.

* * *

For all the talk at lunch, the young families at least retired early. In his room, Brian took Jimmy out of the pram and made silly faces at him for a bit, briefly delighted that the baby seemed to be making silly faces back. Then Brian smelled the real reason Jimmy had been squinting so hard. He looked around the room.

“Where are the nappies?” he asked. “He needs changing.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Chrissie, “give him here.”

“I can change a baby, Chrissie, I’ll do it.”

“Nonsense,” she said, and slid Jimmy right out of his arms.

Brian watched her go into the attached toilet and shut the door, and wondered who in the world he had been when he was younger, that he'd thought this was the ideal, that this was the kind of woman he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He didn’t fit in her routine at all, and once that was alright with him, because she was doing Women’s Things. He wandered out into the hallway.

There he saw John glaring down the long hall to Roger’s door at the very end, hefting a small box in his hands. John looked up and nodded at him.

“What did he do?” Brian asked.

“Oh he thinks he’s extremely funny,” said John, and showed Brian a box of - oh goodness that was a box of condoms from the 70’s. _Well I am in the 70’s._ The packaging showed a young man and woman gazing at one another intently, as if the intensity of the look itself was enough to need the ‘Intimate prophylactic’ inside. John continued conversationally, “He got Crystal to leave them on the pillow.”

“Not very properly Catholic,” Brian nodded along.

“It’s not that,” John said, shaking his head, “It’s his timing, cause he’s not exactly wrong. But he’s also just too late.” He raised his eyebrows and said, “Don’t let on yet, but Ronnie’s already expecting again.”

Brian bit his lip to avoid laughing. _Laura,_ he thought a little hysterically, _well that’s good to know._ He schooled his expression. “That’s great news, John. I’m sure she’ll be lovely as her mother.”

“Why must it be a she?”

 _Yes, why?_ “Well we’ve got three boys now. Aren’t we due a girl?”

John smiled sweetly. “That’s a nice thought.” He looked down at the box in his hand. “What’ll I do with these?”

Brian looked at it too. “Give it here. I’ll find a use for them...” _Freddie…_ “...maybe the roadies could use some.” He remembered a joke Adam had made once, and it twisted his face into a smile. “And if they pass their expiration date we can make them into water balloons to throw at Rog.”

John’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god,” he said, then curled forward to shake with poorly controlled laughter. “Oh my god! No, no you’d never do it. Too dignified.”

Brian supposed he could say he’d ask Freddie to, but he was a young man again, and wasn’t that worth something? “Worth it. I could be 72, and a Commander of the Order of the British Empire and my dignity would not be worth missing the opportunity. Fork ‘em over, and don’t let on you found ‘em.”

John grinned at him. “Make sure I get to see it,” he said, handing Brian the box, “And when you do, you really ought to fill them with milk.”

“...John, oh my god!”

Laughing, Brian went back into his room, where Chrissie was already feeding Jimmy before putting him down.

Chrissie looked up. “What were you doing?”

Brian showed her the box. “Roger played a joke on John. I took them off his hands ...the roadies could probably use them.”

Chrissie eyed the box thoughtfully, then bit her lip and looked up at Brian. “You could use them too. If you want.”

He tried not to look too much like a deer in the headlights, but heavens, Chrissie looked like a CHILD. Never mind the fact that she was feedling one. “That’s alright, Chrissie. I… I know you’ve had a long trip, and… and I just wanted you and Jimmy here, that’s all.”

She smiled then. “If you’re sure. I admit, I was quite worried you’d be a bit caveman when we got here, what with how insistent you were on me coming.”

He laughed nervously. “No, no. You can relax. We can have a quiet visit.”

Chrissie contentedly finished getting ready for bed, and Brian joined her, his discomfort carefully hidden. But his thoughts wouldn’t quiet, and as she turned her back to him under the covers, he thought of Anita, getting her career started somewhere out there, with no place in her life for him yet.


	4. Excursion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 19, 1978, daytime. Bicycles may be passing through.
> 
> Also, as an author, why did I inflict this many characters on myself at one time?

Their entourage managed to reserve a restaurant terrace for the afternoon, despite the late notice. Photographers would be meeting them there - probably the first piece of permanent evidence of this new branch of history, in the event that Brian ever was himself again.

Dominique met them at a smaller cafe in Lausanne for brunch, carrying a large bunch of balloons and angling straight for Brian. He looked up at her quizzically as she handed them to him and said, “Happy Birthday! Are we having cake this morning, or will you all be having that later?”

It took him a moment to realize that it was, in fact, the 19th of July, and his actual birthday, and everybody else seemed to think his astonishment was absolutely hilarious. Roger produced a cake that was actually rather tastefully decorated for him, and Brian got to blow out the candles which proclaimed him all of 31 years of age in a place where the only camera clicking was Freddie’s trusted Polaroid. He stole the camera out of Freddie’s hands and turned it on everyone else for a few shots, and wondered where he had left his stereo camera, which he hadn’t even thought to pack. He’d grown too used to an iPhone, he knew it, but in the moment its loss was galling.

His present from Roger, while primarily a few new vinyls Roger thought he ought to have, included another box of condoms. Brian looked Roger right in the eye. “That’s very considerate of you, Roger,” he said, “Dom’s favorites, I presume?”

“What did he give you?” Freddie asked, “Let me see.” Brian waited for Freddie to take a sip of his mimosa before turning the box to give him a look, and was rewarded with an extremely undignified spluttering followed by helpless wet laughter.

“I just thought it was time to curb the tide,” said Roger, gesturing at Brian and John, “Before Queen turns into the Partridge family.”

“Say what you like, Roger,” said John, “It’ll happen to you one of these days.”

“Except Dom and I don’t plan to marry. Someone’s got to maintain our rockstar image.”

Brian snorted, “So don’t marry. You’re still gonna make a great dad, Rog.”

Roger blinked at him, like he was waiting for some prudish zinger to follow. It wasn’t going to. Brian knew better, now, after all.

Meanwhile, at the next table, Joe was trying to lean over to get a glimpse of what all the hilarity was about. “I don’t know,” he told David and Ratty, Freddie’s roadie, “You’re going to have to ask them later.” At which Crystal gestured the rest of his tablemates closer to let them in on his part of the story.

“They’re good for other things too, you know,” said Dom, nodding towards the box Brian had hidden under the tablecloth. “Better cleanup. Especially if Chrissie feels particularly adventurous one night.” And she winked at him.

Chrissie raised her eyebrows and focused back on cutting the cake. Brian felt his face grow hot as he started to laugh, and Freddie, who had almost recovered from his first bout, fell to cackling again with his head almost against the table.

The rest of the gifts were comparatively forgettable. An antique from Freddie, a book from John, a sweater and pair of clogs from Chrissie, and all of them the sort of things Brian had gotten for most birthdays back then. It made him wonder what he had said or done to give Roger his burst of prurient inspiration, and whether he could pull something like that off on purpose.

* * *

After brunch, they split up for a few hours’ varied sightseeing and shopping. As soon as Roger left, Brian went over to Freddie who correctly guessed the issue from a single worried look.

“If you forgot your own birthday, you’ve certainly forgotten Roger’s, haven’t you? That’s fine, darling, I’ll be glad to help.”

That led to antique stores and clothing stalls, with plenty of goods to attract Freddie’s eye, but somewhat fewer to match Roger’s less elegant tastes. And Brian actually had no idea what he could afford these days, so he took whatever Freddie found interesting and assumed he could manage maybe 60 percent of that.

The ladies (meaning Veronica) decided after half an hour that they were going to sit by the lake with the children, and John chose to join them, with a couple of the bodyguards discreetly following.

“Well that’s gotten rid of the brood hens,” Brian heard a voice murmur lowly behind him, and he saw Freddie’s face darken.

“What was that you said, Paul?” Freddie hissed.

“Oh, I said nothing boss,” the man answered in a lazy sham of innocence. Brian KNEW he’d had plenty of legitimate reasons to dislike Paul.

“Well, since you have nothing to say, perhaps you should go make sure the restaurant is ready for us,” Freddie said with restrained venom, “We’re all due to meet there in a couple of hours, you can make sure it’s absolutely perfect for the families. Sweets for the children and everything. Run along.”

Paul pushed past the clothes racks, and behind him David looked a little put out. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it, Freddie.”

“And you can join him, I’m sure you’ll find his company much more stimulating than ours, darling,” Freddie sniped. David looked gravely affronted but tongue tied, and after a moment he huffed, said “Fine, I shall,” and stalked out himself.

“Freddie…” Brian said.

“Brian. We’re having a lovely day. It’s your lovely birthday and we are getting you a gift to give Roger for his birthday, and that will be lovely too.” Freddie was almost gritting his teeth. “And later on, we are going to watch lots of lovely young men busting their buttocks on bicycles to get into the city. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that my employees do nothing to mar the afternoon.”

Brian raised his eyebrows. _Oh,_ he thought, _OH. I don’t have to be the arse who pisses Freddie off this time. Thank the stars for that._ “Well,” he said, turning to the jackets next to him, “I think the selection here is altogether too lovely for Roger. We need something more garish.”

Freddie accepted the offered distraction by giving Brian’s brand new clogs an eloquently sarcastic look.

In another clothing store, Brian found a lady’s blazer with a sort of bright green vine brocade over a purple fabric, and the lining was leopard print. It was obviously perfect, so he made Freddie try it on for size.

As Freddie complainingly pulled it on, over the store’s radio came the warm voice of Dusty Springfield, singing, “I think I’m going back, to the things I loved so well in my youth…” and Brian’s breath caught in his throat.

“What,” Freddie asked, “is there a spot we didn’t notice?” and craned his neck to try to follow Brian’s gaze.

“It’s not the jacket, Fred. I just haven’t heard this one for a while.”

Freddie cocked an ear up. “Ah, the original! Can you imagine if we’d found any success with that record? A narrow escape from being called Larry Lurex forever.”

“All the same, I like your version best,” Brian said diffidently.

Freddie smiled. “Only because you’re on it.”

Brian smiled affectionately back and answered simply, “No.”

Joe looked up towards the speaker, as if it could show him the woman behind the voice. “Dusty Springfield, right? Do you suppose she’s finally recovering from the Standard interview, or do they just play her more often here?”

Brian was briefly confused, then remembered that she had come out years ago, possibly before Queen had even formed.

Freddie scowled a little. “Not easy to come back from declaring her Sapphic identity to the excited pen of that reporter. She’ll have another ten years before she gets a nostalgic renaissance.”

Brian’s forehead crinkled and he said, “I thought she was bisexual though.”

“Oh bisexual _bi_ sexual **bi** sexual. So was Sappho, dear,” Freddie declared, rolling his eyes dramatically.

 _Nope,_ Brian thought, _I do get to be the arse today._

* * *

They left to rejoin the others shortly. Brian had briefly considered buying his own gag gift to keep the comedy going with Roger, but the very idea of finding an adult store and how utterly insufferable Freddie would be in one was enough to pale the most stalwart companion. Fred hadn’t totally committed to the leather look yet, but was already flirting with it and Brian was simply not ready to handle Freddie cooing at police outfits and handcuffs. At the very least, he wasn’t sure if Freddie had bought that whip of his yet, and Brian wasn’t keen on being present for its selection and purchase.

When they reached the lake, they walked East along the promenade until they found John and Chrissie on a cloth spread over a bit of lawn, while Veronica was up and chasing Robert around. Freddie joined the chase, and soon enough they all left for the restaurant.

They were met with the expected photographers who wanted to pose them for a few shots before the race could come by. Brian had successfully claimed Jimmy long enough that the infant had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and then kept warning the ladies they’d wake him when they tried to take the boy away. He felt rather proud of this, but now that press were there he felt self-conscious of what he’d been enjoying as something of a private moment with his son. So after being captured in a few candids, he let Chrissie take Jimmy again while he was asked to sit by the edge of the terrace with a view to the road. The infant slumbered through the handover with barely a twitch.

Freddie seemed to have forgiven David, since he had pulled him over to the seat with the clearest view and was now whispering things in his ear that were making David smile cautiously. Joe didn’t seem to mind at all, and was instead focused on helping Ratty fold bits of paper into airplanes for Robert to throw around when the first cyclist came into view along the edge of the lake.

Brian wasn’t particularly interested in the race, of course, but was charmed by how his family - his bandmates especially - responded to the spectacle. Chrissie craned her head over the edge to watch the bicyclists pass, Freddie was pointing and reaching and running around the terrace when Robert chased him, and John and Veronica had their heads together while they leaned on the railing. It was peaceful, in an odd way. They were all so relaxed.

Roger and Dom came to the restaurant before the last few racers went by, and Roger listened semi-patiently to Freddie elaborate on everything they had missed. Then the photographers buzzed by like so many flies for a few final shots with the full band, and the spell was broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to YOU if you knew it was Brian’s birthday from the summary


	5. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 19, evening

“We’re in the city, we should make a night of it!” declared Freddie to the room, or at any rate the half of the room that contained his boyfriends and Roger. But he turned to John to say, “We can start off at a beer garden for dinner.” Somewhere in the knot of crew, someone groaned quietly. Freddie didn’t appear to notice this time.

John nodded and said, “Alright, but Ronnie and I won’t stay long. We’d like a little time together, and Chrissie’s offered to take the kids.”

Chrissie looked at Brian and offered, “You can stay to celebrate with the boys tonight.”

Brian felt stricken. On the one hand, he’d expected her to try to spend some time alone with him for his birthday and had been feeling anxious about it, but here she was writing him out of everything domestic again, without consulting him. On the other, he had been given a way to both watch out for Freddie and to respect the wishes of his - well, not exactly ex-wife.

“Are you sure, Chrissie? I’ll gladly stay with you and help,” he said.

“Oh no,” she said, “You’d only be in the way. Have fun!”

The difference, he supposed, between him and John, was that Ronnie actually liked John. Brian nodded and turned away, and for an instant saw David looking at him sympathetically.

They found a decent brewery with advice from one of the security crew, and while they were choosing drinks, Brian surreptitiously ordered a Halbbier which he slid in front of Roger when the drinks arrived. Roger barely paid attention, so there was a terribly gratifying moment when he took a sip and pulled a face of offended disgust.

“What the hell is this, beer flavored pop?!” he complained, nearly whining.

Brian leaned forward and caught his eye. “Children’s drinks for children,” he said, “since you still think safe sex is a joke.”

“Oh fuck off Brian, I knew you were more offended than you let on,” Roger groused.

Brian leaned back. “I’m not, but if you’re so convinced I should be, you absolutely are thinking about it like an adult.”

Roger glared at him as Brian slid his proper drink over with sarcastic deliberation. “Piss off.”

Brian leaned back and put his arm around Chrissie, feeling smug. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Freddie looking at him quizzically, and his self-satisfaction magnified significantly as he kept his own gaze trained towards Roger’s irritation. Chrissie shifted uncomfortably, and he released her to tackle the bread. There wasn’t much on the menu that was properly vegetarian, so he would be monopolizing everything that was, including anything the others might offer off their own plates.

* * *

Dinner done, Chrissie, the kids, Ronnie and John piled into cars to head back to Montreux. Brian lingered with them as they piled in, asking Chrissie if she was sure she didn’t need him.

“Brian, I’m touched by the offer,” she said somewhat petulantly, “but I do know what I’m doing. You could have a little faith.”

“I don’t mean to imply…”

“Of course not. Go have fun with your mates, I’ll probably be sleeping when you get back.” She closed the door.

Brian watched, a little forlorn, as the car left, and came back to people bickering about whether they should go straight to a club or find a bar first. Dom wanted to go dancing, Roger and the roadies were more intent on drinking, and Paul was talking up some club he’d uncovered to Joe and David. Freddie seemed to think he wasn’t dressed well enough to go to a club this early in the evening and was taking Roger’s side.

David spoke up, asking, “Where do you suppose the racers are going to be?”

Brian thought for a moment. “They’ll be in training, of course. No alcohol.”

“Ooh, good point darling,” Freddie said, “Clubs’ll be best, then, to socialize with less expectations of what exactly one should do there.” Brian’s heart fell a bit, but he reminded himself that Freddie had both Joe and David nearby, and no reason to look elsewhere.

“Oh something’s expected,” Paul said with a wink that reawakened Brian’s nervous fears.

“It’s settled then,” Freddie said.

“It’s not,” Roger griped, but Dom whispered in his ear and he turned to her with some humor to quietly say “Oh definitely, I definitely can.”

They arrived at the club in two groups, and the moment Roger got in he made a beeline for the bar while Dominique hung back with Brian and Crystal looking for the others. Roger leaned heavily on the bar with his head tilted onto his palm, smiling winningly at the bartender, and came away with beers for himself and Brian and one large and very fruity-looking drink. “Got it free for you,” he said as he handed it to Dom, who had sat herself next to Freddie.

“Ooh, you tart,” Freddie said, “I doubt if I could pull that off unless they recognized me.”

Roger snorted. “Guess you’d have to flash your tits at him then.” Freddie tried to roll his eyes but the effect was somewhat spoiled by his simultaneous laughter. He settled himself by taking a pull of his own beer.

It was obvious to Brian that Freddie was playing up just a little because he was in public. If he snuggled close to Joe for a moment, the next moment he had moved over to lean on Dom, telling her stories of a younger Roger but appearing from the outside as if it was flirtatious. He had covered all his bases. His eyes were roving, though, and Brian could see what they caught: which men lingered close to one another on the dance floor, which ones wore leather. Discreet hand-offs, perhaps, or men surveying the room from prominent vantage points against the wall. Freddie looked particularly thoughtfully towards one man in leather, and with a brief shock Brian noticed the man was wearing kneepads.

How very much Brian must have ignored when he was younger.

“Ooh, I think he’s one of them!” Brian heard David say, and turned to follow his line of sight. There was a man with a very lean body, but whose slacks seemed to fit him oddly - filled out around the thighs, but extremely loose around the ankles. One of the bicyclists for sure, no matter that he had a beer in hand. He did seem to be sipping it slowly.

Joe looked over, too. “Thighs that could crush a man’s skull,” he said.

Paul said, a little dreamily, “But think of the power,” and David hummed along absently.

Freddie stood abruptly, said “Pardon me, darlings,” and made all three let him past so he could stalk off to the bar, snapping his fingers for Paul to follow him. He asked for, or perhaps demanded, a bottle of Stoli, left Paul to pay for it, and flounced back without even bothering to grab shot glasses, seating himself next to David in the spot Paul had had to vacate, scooting everyone down so Joe was now next to Dominique.

Paul lingered near the racer on his way back, trying to catch his eye. Brian excused himself to get past Crystal, taking his beer glass with him, and leaned on the table by Freddie to finish it while Freddie, now in a brighter mood, gushed about what fun it must be for the bicyclists to do nothing for a month but speed through beautiful countryside.

As Paul returned, Brian reached into his pocket to palm the part of his birthday present he had stashed there. He barely gave Paul room to get by and quietly dropped the condom into Paul’s hand as he said to Freddie, “Oh absolutely, they’ve been _all_ over France.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Paul give a double take as Brian took the last gulp of his beer and went to get another at the bar. Maybe he even saw Paul redden a little.

When he got back, Dom had pulled a reluctant Roger out onto the dance floor, and Freddie was leaning over David to talk to Crystal. Paul was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Two hours later, Fred had wandered onto the dance floor a few times and had picked up an edge from somewhere. If he had been restless earlier in the evening, he seemed driven now, and was trying to get Brian to “celebrate _properly,_ darling, it’s your night!” which made Brian think fondly of Adam getting the crowd to sing Happy Birthday for him and Roger. But Brian hung back amid threats to bodily move him onto the dance floor and sipped his drinks slowly as a new one was placed before him the moment he finished anything.

He finally relented when a slightly slower song started up and Dom grabbed his hand and said “Come on, Roger’s taking a break.” She gave him enough room that he could avoid stepping on her feet, and they were far enough in the corner that he didn’t have to worry about running into anyone else. But Brian did see David on the sidelines, having what looked like a pleasant conversation with another cyclist.

And it was just that, a conversation. But Freddie, in the middle of the dance floor, was shooting irritated glances at them. Suddenly Freddie stalked over and, with a too-bright smile, joined the conversation. Brian couldn’t hear anything, but David suddenly stiffened, said something curt, turned on his heel and walked right out of the club. Freddie pointedly didn’t watch him go, but he also showed no more interest in the cyclist, prancing over to where Paul leaned on the wall by their table to issue some sort of instruction.

The song finished, Brian thanked Dom and excused himself, saying he needed a little air.

* * *

David was half a block down from the club, breathing hard like he was trying to avoid tears. Brian approached with care.

“You alright?” Brian asked.

David shook his head, then nodded, then glanced back at the club. Brian chose not to ask what Freddie had said.

“Did you follow me on purpose?” David asked. Brian nodded silently. “Why?” David asked.

Brian hesitated a moment, then answered, “I’ve known him a long time.”

David snorted, then burst out, “He’s hypocritical is what he is.”

“Maybe,” Brian said. “He might not be himself right now.”

David turned away with a toss of his head, an expressive movement that showed his opinion of THAT statement. “He’s SOME version of himself, the one he wants to be, greedy for everything.”

“That’s definitely a part of him,” Brian acknowledged. “But you know well enough he doesn’t want to lose you.”

David looked sharply at Brian then. Brian gazed steadily back. David’s jaw tightened for a moment, then he stepped back defensively. “What of it?”

Brian shook his head and gave his own slow step back. “I realize he’s built you into his life, but it’s a difficult way to live. Defining yourself by someone else like that. When it cracks… you don’t know who you are alone.”

“And you get this from…?”

Brian shrugged. In for a penny. “Learned the hard way that’s not really the best to put too much of my identity into being with my wife.” Even if that lesson really came later with Anita and being in the clinic.

David tilted his head as if to cautiously examine Brian. “Forgive me for asking, but - are you one, too?”

Brian thought he understood what David was asking - it had been assumed enough in the last 50 years, and still more often in the last 30 - but had to make sure. “Pardon?” he asked, gently.

David cleared his throat. “Are you, uh. Has your wi…” He shook his head. “Do you find men interesting?”

Brian tried not to find humor in what was obviously a truly serious question. He was far from the days when such a question was a shock, and David was clearly unsure of asking at all. He steadied himself and said, “I’m sorry, David.”

David looked down at his feet and nodded. Then he looked up and asked, “Are you sure?”

On some level, Brian wanted to answer ‘No, I wrote those songs already,’ or perhaps, ‘After 72 years, I really ought to know by now.’

What he answered instead was a cryptic, “Oh that would make _everything_ so much easier.” Seeing David’s incredulous expression, Brian smiled wanly and added, “If I had just such a reason for all of my problems. But no, I just married the wrong woman. We’re partners, and we’ve been lovers, but I don’t think we’re actually friends.”

“I see,” said David. “Well. You’ve been very kind then, I suppose.”

Brian touched his arm before David could go back into the club. “Freddie is terrified of people leaving him. But your life is worth something even if he were willing to let you go. Even if you leave him first. This isn’t the end of the line, David, and shouldn’t be.”

David looked slightly alarmed at that, but Brian let him go and walked back to the club himself.

* * *

Brian went back to the table and distractedly accepted the drink Roger passed to him, staring into it rather than taking a sip. _So I just killed a song,_ he thought, _maybe a person. Maybe saved him. Guess I’ll find out by the end of the year._ Brian felt the weight of it. David hadn’t actually succeeded last time. If he made the attempt now…

Brian barely heard Roger say, “Maudlin. Well that’s more like you.”

“Huh?” Brian said as he looked up.

Roger was looking him right in the eye. “Something’s going on. You’ve almost been treating me like normal, but no one else. I haven’t seen you go this long without bitching at Freddie since you were sick.” He tilted his head towards the door. “But if you’re interfering with his life, that fight is gonna cover all the ground you’ve lost and then some.”

Brian took a breath to answer, somehow, but Roger waved his hand and stood. “Dom and I are leaving. You can ride back with us. Might have to, if Crystal and Ratty want to stay.”

“No, I’ll come.” Brian went over to excuse himself from the others. Freddie teased him about getting old and tired in his fatherhood, which made him chuckle nervously, and from under Freddie’s arms over their shoulders, Joe smiled at him, and David gave him a troubled nod.

Back at the house, as Roger and Dom laughed down the hallway, he lingered briefly in the entrance hall staring at the decorations, wondering how he’d forgotten just how many ducks there had been in this place. Paintings, sculptures. Ducks everywhere.

When he reached the bedroom, Chrissie was in bed but not yet asleep. “Did you have a good time?” she mumbled as he got ready to join her.

“Not as much as Freddie thought I should,” Brian said as he got under the covers and tried to settle his mind for sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's thoughts: ...did I seriously get Prenter laid before anybody else in this story? *facepalm* In other news, the fact that Freddie wore kneepads on stage for a while and there were people who still didn't realize he was bi or gay is fucking AMAZING to me.
> 
> Historical note: David Minns attempted suicide in late 1978, and Freddie saw it as an attempt at blackmail. This really does explain a lot about Don't Try Suicide, but I'm pretty damn sure Brian would see it otherwise if he found himself back there in the moment. Brian would know, right?


	6. Time Waits For Nobody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eventually the implications were going to catch up to him.

He woke abruptly, a screaming echo in his ears. Brian had seen a rift open in his dreams, like the calving of a glacier, his daughters caught on the edge of it and being borne swiftly away out of sight.

 _They can’t be dead,_ he reminded himself, _worst case they’re just..._ Well that was the question wasn’t it? What happened to the world he left, when he left it? How had he left it at all?

Behind him, Chrissie’s voice softly asked, “Are you alright?”

Brian cleared his throat. “Nightmare,” he said.

“Oh?” Chrissie said. “And who’s Louisa?”

“Pardon?” he said. He must have been talking in his sleep.

“The name you were calling for,” Chrissie said with a studious calm.

Brian took a shuddering breath. Half truth: “I dreamed we had a daughter. That I lost her, that I couldn’t protect her.” He looked at Chrissie soon enough to see her face soften in the moonlight. “It was terribly real.”

She reached out to brush his arm with her palm. “Think you can settle back down?”

He shook his head. “I think I need to walk for a while.” He went over to the bassinet, then, and kneeled down. He put his head against the edge, and just breathed for a moment, smelling talcum powder and listening to his son breathing.

Chrissie wandered over. “It wasn’t real,” she said, her hand against his back. Brian shook his head, stood up, and left the room.

* * *

The current owners of Mountain Studios had gotten frustrated with Queen working late into the night and asking to be let in in the early morning, so they had made up a spare key for the band to let themselves in and out when the whim struck them. Brian took it from its place by the door and walked out into the night.

The full moon was startlingly bright in the clear mountain air, the shadows underfoot as sharp as razors. There was no softness to it, crisp and white and cold. It fit his mood well.

Maybe he had died. Maybe whatever part of him was his consciousness had been transplanted into his own past and his old body was marching along in a hospital somewhere, with his family standing around wondering whether it was time to turn off the machines. Maybe he had traded places with his old self and they just thought he had terrible, mysterious amnesia.

Maybe he was even now creating a parallel universe. It was obvious that he was changing things, constantly even when unintentionally. Massive changes and minor ones, erasing things he remembered and things he didn’t. Maybe the world he had left continued on even as he grew farther and farther from it.

Maybe it ended when he left, a timeline closed and locked by the very first change he’d made, breathing a silent gasp to see Chrissie looking more like Louisa than like his last memories of his former wife, a terrible reversal of lyrics he had written such a very long time ago.

The body had no real aches, not significant ones. There were no anomalies about it - he’d checked quickly one afternoon before he left for Switzerland, visiting his old college to linger by sensitive instruments and then feel extremely foolish and doubt his own sanity. The body wasn’t tired as easily, it was lighter, it responded faster than he wanted it to, sometimes. He’d grown so used to his silver hair that the darker curls sometimes startled him when they moved at the side of his vision.

Everything was alien. But the same moon shone that had shone all his life, and the gentle waters of the lake moved with their same eternal restlessness.

* * *

The casino was bright with artificial light when he entered it, but the studio was quiet and dark. He leaned into the main space to grab an acoustic, but reached over to touch the Red Special, to finger the knob he had recently lost in Houston. One more little thing he had regained before the losses inevitably to come.

He sat down by the mixing table with his notes on the songs he remembered contributing to this album - not even named Jazz yet, what if it got named something else? Brian couldn’t even remember some of his own lyrics properly. Dead on Time was a pure blank page and a memory of recording a thunderclap out the window. He wished for Roger, the Roger who had known him for fifty years instead of nearly ten, to remind him of all his empty spaces with that flawless memory Brian had come to rely on.

Brian stared at the page for Leaving Home Ain’t Easy, for which he had snatches and snippets written on tour. He was amazed he had written it the way he had, with Chrissie at home with his first child. The more he stared at it, as apt as it was to his circumstances, the less he could imagine rewriting it. Far beyond his usual certainty that the magic only hits once, it was vaguely sickening now that he knew how true it had become. Easy to pen the words when he only thought it cathartic and imaginary.

Brian had always believed that he had never fallen out of love with Chrissie, but simply that he had never loved her as much as he had loved Anita from the start. But somewhere in the last 30 years he had genuinely fallen out of love and into a sort of guarded respect. He knew that when Jimmy was born he had felt something wonderful for her, he knew it, but that feeling simply wasn’t here with him now, and his duties as a husband had become so terribly muddled. Eventually Chrissie would expect something of him that would be impossible to give, some sincerity of attraction and emotion that he wouldn’t be able to falsify.

He kept having to tell himself when he looked at her that Louisa was not counting on it, and nor was Emily. Brian understood, essentially, that even were he to know the precise days and hours and circumstances of their beginnings, years from now, nothing would ensure that they were born into this world as they had been in the last. He could have more children. They would be different children, even if they were still named Louisa and Emily.

And it would be terribly unfair to play along with Chrissie in hopes of getting them back. Brian KNEW, but some part of him kept crying out that he must try. It was entirely unfair to Chrissie, but he had no way to be fair to her, either. She needed him, he hoped. He hoped, Brian hoped to be necessary in raising Jimmy at least. And Jimmy… well, he might well become an only child, if Brian succeeded in being honest to his mother. Just like Brian had been an only child.

He crumpled up the page he’d used for his notes on Leaving Home Ain’t easy, and began to try to remember the words to Sail Away Sweet Sister. There was no good reason to preserve any songs but the ones he loved best or needed, and there was no good reason not to steal songs out of the future. Jazz hadn’t been the most successful album anyway.

Louisa was on his mind, however, and the fact that Jimmy would never meet her, and new lyrics flowed from the pen:

 _Hey little babe you’re changing_  
_You’re not who you was before_  
_Ain’t no use in pretending  
_I’ll see you the same no more__

__

_It’s plain that I lost you baby_  
_The moment I went away_  
_No longer that sweet young lady_  
_No matter what I could say, hey_

_Sail away, sweet sister_  
_Sail the starry seas_  
_Maybe you’ll find your own way  
_Since you can’t come back to me__

_My heart is always with you_  
_Whatever I’ll come to do_  
_Sail away, sweet sister_  
_My girl I’ll always love you_

* * *

Some hours later, leaning or dozing against the mixing desk with his head pillowed by crumpled pages, Brian was roused by the studio door creaking open. John, he thought. Too early for Freddie, and Roger was as likely to toss the door open as he was to walk in peacefully.

Turned out it was Ratty, looking for some lost knickknack or other. He nodded politely to Brian and the pile of paper. “Getting anywhere, mate?”

Brian shook his head. “Nothing worth saving,” he said, and swept the pile into a small dustbin before he stood and stalked out.


	7. Striations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I believe what I said to my beta was "Well I've touched on every note I was planning to before the end so it's time to kick Brian in the gut."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to take a day off from publishing chapters tomorrow. Doesn't seem appropriate to publish a fix-it, no matter how loving I'm trying to make it, on the day itself.

Brian expected to see Freddie tooling around with the beginnings of Bicycle Race in the next few days, but if he did, it wasn’t when Brian was there. Rather, they were only having short studio sessions arranged around the songs that had already been introduced, leaving time for the families to spend together while they could. Presumably Freddie was taking similar advantage of the time, though the existing undercurrent between him and David appeared to be growing, with Joe apparently trying to stay out of it. It was somewhat hard to tell, since David and Joe had ostensibly come as part of the temporary crew for Wednesday’s outing, and were not housed at the villa Roger had just named Duckingham Palace.

Friday morning, Brian noticed John sitting very still by a villa window overlooking the lake. He checked out the window by reflex but remembered that this was how John did his writing, so he tried to creep out without disturbing him. But John must have caught his reflection in the window and turned to greet him.

“Oh hello, Brian. Sorry I didn’t notice you there.”

“No, no John, I don’t mean to interrupt you,” Brian said.

“It’s alright. Just had part of an idea, isn’t much of anything yet.” John smiled and added, “It’s good to have Ronnie around, even if it’s only for a week.”

Brian nodded. “It’s good to see you with her and the kids. You two ...fit together so well.”

John looked like he wanted ask Brian something for a moment, but just nodded instead.

“John,” Brian asked, and paused a moment before continuing, “Are you ...are you happy?”

John’s quizzical look deepened. “Yes? Is there any reason I shouldn’t be?”

Brian shook his head. “I mean with us. We’re on the road so much, I know it’s… it’s tough for you to be away from Ronnie so much of the time.”

John dropped his head and nodded. “That’s true. It’s hard on her no matter how she used to be a nanny and all. She still wants to be doing everything herself, and I can’t be much help when we’re travelling. But you know, Brian, even though this is not the career I expected, it’s ensured my children will never go hungry, or want for anything.”

“True,” Brian said. He thought for a moment. “Still, John… how important is it, really, that we keep on at such a pace? An album every year? You would know.”

“Well financially we’re fine,” John said, thoughtfully. “The last album being such a hit. And since we’re producing ourselves now nobody can wave a contract at us to hurry up. But there are expectations.”

“Fuck their expectations,” Brian mumbled. He dropped into a chair, then raised his head. “I don’t want our work to ever become a burden to your family. I don’t want you to miss your kids’ childhoods.” He sighed, and dropped his head onto one hand.. “Or mine, of course.”

John shifted his feet. “I’d never ask, Brian, but with what you’re saying…”

“Go ahead,” Brian said without lifting his head.

John cleared his throat. “Is everything alright with you and Chrissie? The first one is always a challenge.”

Brian nodded without taking his chin off his hand. “I know. I know that, and we’re fine still, just she doesn’t need me,” he said miserably.

John scoffed, but softly. “I’m sure that isn’t true.”

“Maybe,” Brian said. “Anyway, there’s also the question of burnout. We’re doing so well, but we don’t want to become sick of one another, or of the work.” Brian had been thinking of this for days. If he was going to be willing to make a few song changes, why not try to spread the albums out a little? Maybe they wouldn’t have the near-rifts they’d had in the early 80’s. Maybe if he started listening to John earlier, they could incorporate his ideas more naturally than having one burst of incongruity to alienate the fans.

Maybe John would never leave.

It was still a concern. The words of his own version of Roger echoed in his thoughts, about how they became a family under adversity. Even if he did everything right with Fred, perhaps without the fear and mourning they’d forget how to pull together and instead would fall apart.

John hummed thoughtfully. “Well it’s something to think about. But it’s not just our livelihoods, you know. The whole crew is depending on us to give them work. If not us, they’ll need to find other bands.”

Brian swallowed. “Right. Right.”

John patted his shoulder and wandered out.

* * *

John’s idea, introduced that evening, turned out to be rather a lot like In Only Seven Days, and didn’t have a title yet. Brian couldn’t put his finger on what was different, but as with everything he remembered from the time it was nebulous and easily subsumed under new experiences so similar to the old ones. Maybe the lyrics were more vague on the point of the characters meeting for the first time. Maybe it said more about how they spent their time together. Brian couldn’t check, of course.

 _Roger should have been the one sent back,_ was a perpetual echo in his brain. Surely Roger’s memory would make it easier to know what had changed, to piece together what mustn’t and how to protect it. Brian felt like he would be lucky if he didn’t screw up the end of the Cold War by accident.

It was powerfully strange to think of the years ahead. 1989, in particular, Freddie sick and all of them deciding together that they were all too much one body to deny it and thereby deny him, so why not affirm it as completely as possible? Giving up all pretense of individuality as songwriters, and make that album cover declaring to the world their unity. A single voice crying for the miracle.

But the miracle they explicitly asked for was an end to war and it almost seemed as if they’d got it, despite a literal world full of complications, within the year. They couldn’t have asked for what they most desperately needed and of course they hadn’t gotten it, but now?

For what other purpose would Brian be here? But it should have been Roger.

* * *

Saturday, Veronica returned the favor she owed Chrissie and took Jimmy so she and Brian could spend the whole day together. Brian didn’t know what to do, but supposed it made sense to hire a boat.

There was a gondolier, they couldn’t really talk comfortably, but then he didn’t particularly want to talk about anything that might make the gondolier uncomfortable anyway, so he felt that was clever. Chrissie leaned against him and they took in the view while someone else did the hard work. Terribly clever.

But Chrissie asked what he’d dreamed their daughter was like, and Brian had to stop himself at simple sketches. “Like you,” he said, “and a little adventurous. Her hair was a bit lighter.”

Chrissie smiled. “A mess of blonde curls?”

Brian shook his head. “Straight hair. Her sister has the curls. Brown.”

“Oh, there was a sister too!” Chrissie sounded pleased. She turned and kissed Brian, but pulled away when he responded slowly. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I realize it was a nightmare. But you sound like you wanted them.”

Brian leaned his head down against her hair so she couldn’t see his eyes, and nodded fervently.

* * *

The boat returned to shore, and they had a forgettable lunch, and walked along the lake back to the villa. Chrissie talked about people Brian didn’t remember, little bits of light gossip that could have been about soaps on the telly instead of real breathing humans for all he knew. It was impossible not to let his mind drift.

Chrissie paused in her stride, which made him turn to look at her. “You’re very quiet,” she said. “Are you listening at all?”

Brian tried to show some grace, and said, “I’m sorry,” chagrined.

“Is something wrong?”

 _I want my wife,_ he thought, a little desperately, but covered with, “No, no, I’m sorry.”

This only seemed to darken her mood. “Really, all this trip. You say you want me here, but you can’t hide your boredom, can you? Aside from pushing in when I’m caring for your son and letting me decorate your arm, you can’t be bothered.”

Brian’s brow furrowed, “Really, now, Chrissie, you can’t hold my trying to help with him against me, and what do you expect when all you’re giving me is a long run of small talk?”

“It could be a conversation if you paid it some mind.”

“Really?” he asked incredulously, “What part of that mattered to you? Who’s dating whom and what dress she made, so and so had a holiday that was disrupted by the Troubles like the holiday is the important thing, and what does the man around the corner want a shrieking red auto for? You talk to me about nothing, like to a stranger!”

“Well you are one!” she said, and stared at him for a moment, having spoken a truth aloud that, in another timeline, had always lurked beyond speech. She breathed in hard, and continued, “You are hardly around long enough for catching up, but even then at least you usually seem happy to see me again, on one level at least. But here I am and somehow it’s easier for you to make lewd jokes with your mates than to look at me with a smile? If you won’t even be glad of me, don’t demand I grant a heart to heart with the stranger you’ve become!”

Brian swallowed. “I’m sorry I’m gone so much, really I am.”

Chrissie deflected. “Of course, you always are.”

“Chrissie…” she tossed a glance sarcastically up at him, but he pushed on, “We’ve been together for years, and are we friends?”

Her brow furrowed, still scowling but thoughtful. “We love each other, don’t we?” she asked, defensive.

 _Maybe not,_ he thought, but said, “That won’t carry us if we aren’t friends.” Brian caught her hand and pulled her over to a bench. She sat heavily, and pulled her hand out of his grip. Brian swallowed, but sat still and didn’t move away.

Chrissie sighed, “I’m sorry, it’s just such pressure. I’ve got to prove I can handle it all or what kind of mother am I going to be, leaving the children to a governess while their father’s away and spending all my time at some fancy ladies club?”

Brian sighed, but accepted the change of topic. “Letting me change a diaper once in a while isn’t leaving him to a nanny all day long. I’m his father. I’m supposed to be part of this.”

She cleared her throat. “Who taught you how?”

Brian blinked. Oh. Should he say John did? Who DID teach Brian to change a nappie? Was it Chrissie, just rather later on? He opted for a simple answer. “I’ve seen it done, and I just tried to be careful and thorough.”

Chrissie looked at him doubtfully. But she didn’t ask the question he thought he saw waiting, and chose instead to say, “Well, don’t be the new dad for a few hours, and don’t be the stranger either, and I’ll just be your girlfriend for a little while.”

And she clung to his arm and looked up at him sweetly. He smiled at her just as well as he could. When she pulled him inside, though, he tried not to think, but to tell himself she deserved better of him.

* * *

Afterward. Well, when she went to get Jimmy from Veronica, he let her be with his baby boy, and he wandered out into the cold again.

He had almost made it 20 years. He had thought it could be no question, really - he and Anita would make it till death did they part.

Oh, maybe they did. Brian could almost hope that was the reason he was here, that they did, that they had made it to his death and so this had been no measure of failure. But he felt vaguely sick of himself all the same, in a way he knew intimately, not from Anita, but always from Chrissie, towards the end. The terrible Lie, the one that had given him Emily.

He turned his steps to the casino, remembering too late he hadn’t checked for the key. But it was early enough that someone else might be using the studio, so he made his way in and found the door open.

Scribbling at the piano was Freddie, and Brian felt the flutter of hope, that at least one solitary thing in this new life was better.

Freddie turned his head to the door and raised his eyebrows. “A little more yourself, Brian? Have a good fuck, have a good fight?” Freddie said it calmly, politely, and took a cocky, combative stance where he sat, straddling the piano bench.

Brian froze.

Freddie tilted his head to the side. “Rings too close to true? Well never mind, Brian.” He turned back to the piano, twiddled between two notes for a moment and then swept a glissando across the keys. In a bored tone, still turned away, he asked, “Whatever did you say to David, dear? He’s decided he won’t be keeping his new flat, when he gets back to England. Says he wants to give me real freedom to be with Joe… oh, and he says you’re aware I’ve made some changes in my personal life.” Freddie turned around. “I did think you must, from things you’ve said in recent weeks, or I don’t think I should have invited Joe at all, but apparently you’re knowledgeable enough to give David advice for how he should break up with me. Do tell, Brian.”

Brian cleared his throat, and tried to corral his thoughts. “Ah…” he hesitated and looked at his feet. Whose shoes were these he was wearing? Might be Deaky’s.

Freddie gave a sarcastic chuff of a laugh. “Dear, you clearly want to have the grace to be ashamed for it, but you can’t choose to fuck with my life and claim it’s for my good or the band’s good or some such bullshit.”

Brian found his voice, and said, “What about for his, Fred?”

Freddie swept a glare at him. “What are you insinuating?”

Brian coughed, a filler noise, and said, “Look, I don’t claim to know anything private, I only told him it’s no good defining your life around someone else too heavily.”

Freddie’s eyebrows climbed into the heights of disbelief. “Oh is that true, Chris Mullen?”

Brian blinked at him. He hadn’t remembered his codependency problem had gone back that far, but using his wife’s name as a pseudonym clicked right into place. “I’d know, wouldn’t I?” he asked, quietly.

Freddie scowled, but softened. “You two really did fight, didn’t you?”

Brian sighed, “Not much. Not about anything I didn’t know.” He collapsed onto a stool. “The fight wasn’t the problem.” He put his head into his hands, and from between them he said, “I do mean it, David’s visibly running himself to pieces trying to be what you want of him, while you do… whatever you were doing the other night.”

Freddie puzzled at Brian for a few more moments, then turned to the keyboard. “Well, then, I don’t think I shall let myself care, for now. Ready to hear something I’m working on?”

Brian sat up, expecting Freddie to start explaining how he planned to put together the first few pieces of Bicycle Race. Instead, with a great piano flourish, Freddie began to sing.

“Tonight, I’m gonna have myself a real good time. I feel ali-i-i-ive…”

Brian barely realized he had staggered to his feet when he heard himself mumbling an excuse to go back to the villa. He bumped into the doorjamb as he hurried out of the studio and into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am probably going to keep editing this chapter because I don't know how to give that scene with Brian and Chrissie enough impact.
> 
> There is a particular sick feeling that comes with having sex with your partner because it doesn't seem fair not to. Whether it's because you haven't figured out you're ace, or actually still pining for a lost partner, or just that you feel there should be no reason for you not to feel up to it at that moment, cause it's NOT THEIR FAULT. It sucks, and I think a lot of us have been there. I don't really know what advice to give except that it's going to drive a rift between you and your partner even if there was none before, so don't imagine it's a gift or sacrifice that will benefit them either. It ain't worth it, guys.
> 
> Oh hey, Brian just ran out of the studio, that's not dramatic at all and I'm sure Freddie didn't notice.


	8. It’s So Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, Brian should never try to figure things out on his own. Not ever.
> 
> *hums In The Lap of the Gods Revisited*

_Don’t stop him now, he’s going to have a good time, he’ll just have them all. Oh fucking stop thinking like that._ Brian hadn’t gone back to the villa at all, but went down the pier he’d used for stargazing, where he now sat trying to peer between clouds. How he hated that song, especially since it was genuinely good. What an awful reminder that there was no way to keep Freddie safe in a box and still fucking happy and free.

He heard footfalls on the boards behind him. Freddie’s voice came out of the dusk, “What the devil, Brian, don’t you realize we’re in a foreign country? If you must go haring about like a Victorian madman, don’t do it in public for pity’s sake, we’ll have the devil of a time convincing them that you’re only running one cog short and needn’t be shut away for your own safety.”

By the time Freddie finished, he was sitting himself cross-legged next to Brian, as grey a ghost as everything else under the clouds and away from the lights of the town. Brian didn’t look at him, but chuffed a laugh at the idea of being put away.

“You have no idea,” Brian said. _That happened already, once._

“I certainly do not, but you have piqued my curiousity and I will have it satisfied or you will have no peace,” Freddie said, full in the overeloquence of his discomfort. “You did not return to our beloved Duckingham Palace but instead once I’d shut up shop and headed out what did I find but your distinctive silhouette brooding Byronically on the lake. What gripped you so that you fled the studio like you’d seen a spirit?”

Though the pier was shadowed, gaps in the clouds over the lake left patches of its surface sparkling with moonlit silver. Manmade lamps, too, cast their own long yellow trails over the waters. In lieu of starlight, it was at least something to anchor to. Brian smiled down at his knees and laughed lightly as he said, “There’s a very good chance I am losing it, Freddie.”

Freddie studied Brian’s profile for a moment, then asked, “Not just the burden of being a family man, then?”

Brian shook his head. “I know your new song.”

“You hardly heard the opening, darling, or did you poke your head in while Rog and I were jamming the rhythm on it yesterday?”

“No, Fred, I’ve played the whole thing. Made the music video, saw it win a ridiculous award for best driving song and they insisted on giving the cheap little plaque to Roger so he could throw it over the side of his boat.”

Freddie laughed. “Your prophetic side usually runs a little more apocalyptic than that, Brimi. I suppose the fever wasn’t high enough for a proper nightmare.” When this garnered no response, Freddie added, “What I wouldn’t give to see Roger’s face if that happened though!” He elbowed Brian’s shoulder. “You should wait long enough to hear the real thing next time, clear out whatever you were dreaming.”

Brian cleared his throat. “I had been expecting to hear you give me a bit of Bicycle Race, instead.” Freddie went still. Brian turned his head to look at him straight on. “Part of it goes ‘You say black, I say white, you say dog, I say bite, you say shark, I say -’ “

“Hey, wait -” said Freddie. Brian just kept on.

“Hey, man, Jaws was never my scene and I don’t like Star Wars.”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet,” Freddie said, thinly.

“Oh haven’t you?” Brian asked innocently, “well you don’t believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein or Superman, all you wanna do is -”

“Alright!” Freddie said, “Alright, I’m listening.”

* * *

The sky had closed its gaps, and they were interrupted by rain before Brian could do more than outline his circumstances. They leaned on each other to avoid slipping on the wet pier in the dark, and made it to shore with most of their combined dignity intact.

“Well, I’d almost say I prefer your other dreams,” Freddie said while they made their way back to the villa, “since they have a bit more drama to them than ‘Oh I lived all the way to my old age’, but it’s probably good that those ones have never shown a hint of coming true the way this has. What I want to know is why you claim you have no evidence when you can recite my unfinished lyrics at me and I recognize them.”

“While that is actually very comforting, I mean evidence I could show anybody who isn’t my best friend, that wouldn’t be easy to fake with an accomplice who knows me well,” Brian said, not paying attention to the way Freddie’s eyebrows rose at ‘best friend’. “Besides, there’s this mathematical concept that’s very popular back then, called the butterfly effect -”

“A popular mathematical concept.” Freddie said flatly.

“Shut it, yes. It is popular.”

“Alright. Good name.”

Brian sighed. “The idea is that little changes have unpredictable effects very far out. It might do a great deal, and change the course of everything, or it might have no effect and you won’t have a reason why. I don’t want to ruin what was, in all honesty, a world that for all its flaws was very kind to me.”

Freddie looked at him and stopped walking. “Do I want to hear why you aren’t afraid of ruining things involving me?”

Brian faced him, and smiled uncertainly. “Maybe not, but I am pretty sure hearing about it could do quite the opposite?”

Freddie watched him until Brian’s smile faltered and faded. He turned back to the villa and said, “Let’s get dry first. And let me get drunk before you tell me how I died.”

* * *

It was midnight by the time they got back to the house. Freddie disappeared into his room and emerged with robes for both of them. Between the rain and the towel he ran over his head, Freddie’s hair had reverted to its natural curls, and while Brian patted his own hair more carefully dry, he filed the sight away as one more precious detail he’d nearly forgotten.

They found Crystal and Ratty in the kitchen having a nightcap, and Freddie took the vodka bottle from them, saying he urgently needed it for an ideas session and stalked down the hallway to the library, while Brian apologized, grabbing a couple of beers and a bottle of sparkling water before following.

Freddie had claimed a large chair facing the doors and was staring at the bottle calculatingly when Brian entered. Brian set his bottles on the table and was about to close the doors when Ratty peered in.

“Do you want those pages I rescued, then?”

Brian blinked at him, but Freddie answered, “Oh why not, put them on this table here,” pointing next to the beer bottles. “And get me a glass would you? I’ve decided not to be a barbarian tonight.”

While Ratty was out, Brian chose a chair and pulled it closer to Freddie’s. After looking to Freddie for a cue and not getting any eye contact, he grabbed a bottle and started searching his pockets for something to use as an opener. Freddie handed him the studio key.

“Looks as if I didn’t drink myself into oblivion at least,” Freddie said, waggling the vodka bottle. “You would have been much more nervous at this. Probably not drugs either or you would have refused to leave us the other night at the club.”

“I’m not going to play a guessing game with you, Fred, you-”

“Hush, dear, I’m not drunk yet.”

Ratty entered, put a pile of slightly crumpled papers on the table and handed Freddie a shot glass. Freddie thanked him, and waved Brian to close the doors behind Ratty as he left. Brian locked them.

“You know that will raise rather more suspicion than less, Brian. Whatever ARE you doing with me, that you need to lock a door in a private house with your wife and child sleeping just one floor away?”

Brian blushed and unlocked it, then went to sit down. Freddie’s eyes didn’t leave him until he was seated, then Freddie leaned over to the pile of papers and spread them with a casual hand while he took a shot of vodka, before he took one from the middle and started examining it with abrupt concern. Brian leaned to see what Ratty had brought in and recognized his own writing.

“Oh. The lyrics.”

“Yes, you were extremely prolific during your all-nighter. I was planning to encourage you not to abandon good work once I stopped being angry at you.”

Brian waved a hand and said, “All from memory, things I wrote in the next few albums. Mostly from memory. Rewrote Sail Away Sweet Sister, but it’s all just too close to home to bear thinking about.”

Freddie looked even more troubled for a moment, then passed Brian the page full of Save Me. “So this was…”

Brian gave a quick, awkward laugh, “Oh no, that was something else. For Mary, really. It probably took me too long to adjust to the idea that you were never going to get back together. I didn’t understand, not really.”

Freddie tossed off a laugh. “I think that might well be a relief, darling.” Brian was puzzled, and glanced down at the lyrics, and raised his eyebrows after a moment. _OH,_ he thought. _Good point, and not that far off._ Freddie continued, “This dream of yours has far too much detail for the single-mindedness of delusions, dear.”

“You sound like you actually believe me.”

“It’s not a matter for belief. I know that I trust you. I trust your judgement. You aren’t acting as if you just believe this, you aren’t taking it on faith or suddenly filled with evangelistic fervor, you’re behaving as if you simply know. Besides, you have been acting strangely for weeks. You called me your best friend out there. Don’t you have one of those already? Tom something.”

Brian’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, Tom! I had him as a best man. I haven’t seen him in absolute ages. ...what was his last name? I’ve forgotten it.”

Freddie laughed. “You expect me to know that? Dreams don’t typically erase established memory, Brian. And just now you sat in your chair as if you were afraid your knees were about to betray you. How ancient did you say you were back there?”

Brian found himself relaxing under the evidence that Freddie was providing him, the gift of not needing to defend what seemed an indefensible position. “Only seventy-two, though I keep telling people I’m eighty-nine when it’s bothering me. Even Adam doesn’t call me ancient, though I do have grandkids.”

“Who’s Adam?”

“Part of your legacy. A singer Roger and I work with.” Brian smiled fondly and laughed. “He’s older than I am now!”

Freddie, however, latched on to a different part of the statement. “Not John?”

Brian looked into his lap. “No, John retired. Roger’s still quite bitter about it.”

Freddie was watching Brian as if he was awaiting some terrible revelation. When Brian finally looked up and gave him a questioning look, Freddie asked, “Was it because the papers figured me out?”

“What?”

Freddie shrugged.

Brian leaned forward. “Nonsense, Freddie, John loves you. He was tired of it, is all, and you had been gone for years. He might have stayed for you, but never left because of you.”

Freddie gave Brian a half smile, and downed another shot of vodka with a flourish. “Alright. How long have I got?”

“Forever.”

Freddie laughed. “Brian, nobody has forever. You know what I meant.”

Brian nodded. “How about another fifty years then?”

“Really, Brian. Alright, you don’t intend for it to happen. I could still die tomorrow from bad luck. All that understood, what is it you think we can prevent?”

Brian sighed, and leaned his elbows on his knees. “It’s a disease, transmitted by blood. The highest risk is from dirty needles, but we all know better than to risk that of course, and through unprotected sex. The reason it got you and not Roger is that it’s extremely widespread in the gay community.”

“Ah,” Freddie said. Then he looked up. “Is there a reason you haven’t named it?”

“It’s called AIDS, but they don’t even name it for another decade. I’m not trying to hide anything from you, it’s just new.”

“Thank you,” Freddie said. “How bad is it?”

“To experience? Not good. You were in a lot of pain, for years, not that you ever let on. In general? Depending on who you ask, it’s an epidemic, or a pandemic. Roger says it was genocide, because it took so long for them to even start to research a cure.”

Freddie looked at him sharply. “If Roger’s saying that, then the population it targeted was very public, wasn’t it?”

Brian nodded. “You kept quiet about having it until the day before you died. You spent your last year hiding in your home, really, with everybody coming to you. But you did tell the world why you were dying, before the end, and that was very brave.”

“Thank you, Brian, but I don’t need your encouragements. Do we know when I get it?”

Brian swallowed. “Not exactly. It has an incubation period of several years. You probably got it in the early 80’s.”

“Probably?” Freddie stared at him. “And several years? Do we know I don’t have it already?”

Brian looked at him gently. “You don’t. I’m reasonably sure. David never got it.”

Freddie looked pained. “Just David?”

Brian stood, and walked over to Freddie’s chair. He kneeled, reached out to put a hand around Freddie’s shoulder, and said “Joe died within a year of you. And…” he took a deep breath. “Your boyfriends after him had it too, could have gotten it anywhere, and your husband, though he at least -”

Freddie gave Brian a startled look. “My what?!”

“Oh, it wasn’t legal yet of course. But yeah.” He smiled. “You don’t just have terrors waiting for you.”

Freddie shook his head at Brian. “Yet? Legal yet?”

“I told you, it’s a world I really don’t want to ruin. I mean, it needs help, but there’s loads of little things worth keeping.”

“Are you sure it doesn’t need me to die to get there?” He side-eyed Brian while he said it.

“Freddie, god, no!” Brian shook his head vigorously, and his hair caught on Freddie’s watch. While he untangled it, he said “That’s a terrible way to think of things and I’ll thank you not to suggest that again.”

“Oh, knowing Roger I am certain I am become a martyr of great honor and magnificent standing.”

Brian paused, then said, “He has a 23 foot tall statue of you in his garden.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Does Roger do anything by halves?”

“Where did he put it? Can it be seen from the street?”

“The town knows better than to fight him about his decorating after the garden gnomes.”

Freddie looked doubtful while Brian just smiled back. Then Freddie sighed.

“So what now? You can’t give me perfect certainty - yes, Brian, yes I know you’re almost sure, but not PERFECTLY. How do we become sure that I’m safe, and others are safe with me?”

“It doesn’t spread easily, Freddie. Barrier protection is good.” Brian had been sure this would be impossibly awkward but it was such a relief that he didn’t have room for other feelings. “I’m not going to tell you to go for abstinence, just - use condoms, especially when receiving. Don’t let anyone tell you they don’t need it, and don’t lose control of the situation.” He sighed. “Testing doesn’t exist until the mid-80’s, and your first test was a false negative. I wouldn’t trust it until 1987.”

“That’s a whole decade, Bri,” Freddie said, a hint of fear finally creeping into his voice.

“I’ll be with you,” Brian said.

Freddie looked at him straight on. “You are telling me I died of some sort of modern syphilis, and you all didn’t distance yourselves from me the moment you knew?”

“Of course not, Freddie.” He put his right hand over the back of Freddie’s left and shook it gently. “Queen’s a marriage, you and me got the wedding dresses to prove it.”

That made Freddie laugh. But he sobered again. “What about Mary?”

“She stayed.” Brian squeezed the hand a little harder, tugged it toward himself lightly, and said, “Freddie. Look at me. Nobody abandons you.”

Freddie looked him in the eyes, and in a small voice said, “I don’t believe you.”

“Freddie. Nobody who really matters in your life ever leaves. David is your friend again eventually. Joe becomes your cook and lives in your house to the end. Mary asks you to be the godfather of her child. Roger lets you name his kids, Freddie, we all write songs for you until you have no breath left to sing and take turns to sit with you as you’re dying.” Brian had pulled the hand up to his cheek and was leaning against it, getting it rather wet. “We love you madly, Freddie, and nobody leaves you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Freddie said again, but his voice was shaky and full of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “If you could time travel to 1978 what would you do?” 
> 
> *sobbing* “MAKE SURE FREDDIE KNOWS HOW MUCH PEOPLE LOVE HIM” 
> 
> “...” 
> 
> “oh and save him but priorities!”


	9. Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new normal

The next morning, as Brian helped Chrissie pack her things to head home, she asked what had brought him to bed so late.

“Long talk with Freddie. About relationships, about the future.” Conveniently, true.

“Are he and Mary alright? I thought ...it seems a little silly, since he asked both David and that Joe fellow to come down, but do you know I thought he might have been taking a bit of a walk on the wild side there when we first met David.”

Brian looked at her and blinked. Well, that was a conversation he hadn’t even considered having. “Chrissie, Fred and Mary haven’t been together for well over a year.”

She looked at him, surprised. “Well the papers don’t know that.”

“No, they don’t, and Fred likes it that way.”

“Oh well, I don’t suppose he’ll have a chance to meet anybody soon anyway since you’ll be touring again the moment you finish the album.”

Brian bit his lip, decided this just wasn’t the time, and changed the subject.

* * *

While the cars were being packed, John and Veronica lingered to chat for the last few moments, and Brian overheard John saying “I’ll make sure we talk about it. It was Brian’s idea, anyway, so if we can work it out I expect he’ll help me convince the others.”

Freddie leaned over to ask lowly, “You have an idea John knows about?”

Brian shook his head. “I’ll tell you with the others.”

“Well what’s the point in being in on the big secret if you still have secrets from me?”

Brian gave a little snort of a laugh and said, “Alright, do you want to buy the studio yet?”

Freddie looked at him, affronted, and murmured “I take it back, how long will it be until I get to have secrets from you again?” Brian just grinned back at him.

Chrissie came up to get her goodbye kiss, and when she let go of Brian, Freddie swung her around to kiss her cheek himself. She laughed and got into the car, then Freddie went over to do the same for Veronica, and as if it was just a whim of the moment, continued on to John, David, and Roger. Dom put her hands up to remind him she wasn’t leaving yet, then took Freddie by the shoulders and pushed him over to Joe, to whom Freddie pretended great reluctance to give the last goodbye kiss.

 _Other side of the looking glass,_ thought Brian. _It’s a lot of work, not actually hiding._

The cars pulled away and they filtered back towards the house. Freddie sent Paul ahead to arrange for lunch, and then casually matched his stroll to Brian’s.

“When do you plan to tell Chrissie?”

“God, I don’t know. I don’t even know what to tell her. There technically isn’t even another woman, except it feels like she’s the other woman. It’s an awful feeling.”

Freddie raised an eyebrow at him. “You aren’t planning to tell her everything?”

Brian frowned at him. “I couldn’t. I’ve been with Anita twice as long as I was with Chrissie, I don’t trust Chrissie that much, and I’m not sure I ever did.”

Freddie grinned. “Go on, Brimi, keep telling me I’m special.”

Brian laughed. “Absolutely exceptional. Every possible exception.”

* * *

They were in the studio for a full day on Monday, and after working on Jealousy for a while Roger spoke up with “Look I’m really not in the mood to keep on with the slow stuff, let’s work on Freddie’s new thing.”

Freddie glanced over at Brian self-consciously for half a second, even as he said “Alright, where do you want to start?”

“Let’s get John up to speed, maybe?” Brian said.

While Freddie demonstrated at the piano, Brian braced himself to listen carefully for new elements in the song. Don’t Stop Me Now was still rough, but it wasn’t very different. Freddie wasn’t singing many of the words though, so Brian wasn’t sure if the lyrics had changed, and it didn’t seem to have the bridge yet - but of course not, since that would be his solo.

“Hey.” Brian jumped nearly a mile in the air to see Roger right in front of him.

“Oh, fuck, don’t DO that, Rog.”

“Well you didn’t answer when I said ‘Brian’ or ‘Hey Brian’ or ‘Is there wool in your brain and not just on your head’ so.”

“Oh piss off. What is it?”

“Ratty told Crystal you threw out enough lyrics to make an extremely depressing album. Freddie get your head screwed on straight?”

Brian shrugged. “More or less.”

“There a reason you’re not looking at me? Actually, you haven’t been looking at me much, recently.” Of course that meant Brian looked up, and there Roger stood, a bit of Rory in his eyes, and Rufus in his stance, Lola in the tilt of his head and Tiger Lily in his clothes.

Brian huffed a laugh, to push out the choking feeling. “No, Roger, just doing a lot of navel-gazing. I’ll pay better attention, I promise.”

“You’d better, this song of Freddie’s is good and fast and we’ll leave you right behind if you don’t.”

After that it was hard not to just watch Roger playing, and when they took a break Freddie wandered over to him. Brian waited until Roger went out for a smoke and Deaky wandered into the other room.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Fred,” Brian said, “but I wouldn’t have chosen to come back here even to see you safe.”

Freddie looked at him sharply. “Who?” he asked.

“I miss Roger’s kids.” Brian sighed. “And Roger. He looks more like them than himself now.”

“What did he look like?”

“Father Christmas.” When Freddie laughed, Brian said, “On my honor, he grew a white beard and went to the Oscars in a red velvet suit.”

Between cackles, Freddie said, “You make it very hard to be comforting, Brian.”

* * *

Wednesday morning, with Roger having breakfast on the terrace with John and Dominique, Brian had enlisted Crystal’s help with a bag of milk he couldn’t quite grapple with alone, when Freddie wandered in and paused at the doorway in shock. “Can someone explain to me what I’m seeing?”

“Just… a bit of revenge. Not working very well though. Blasted things are designed to hold together, so I don’t think it’s going to break properly unless it has like a gallon in it, and we can’t give it the proper pressure.”

Crystal suggested, “Well you could twist it up closer to the tip maybe?”

“Or just fill it the rest of the way from the tap.”

Freddie backed out of the room, shaking with laughter and covering his eyes. “I wish I didn’t know either of you.”

Ten minutes later, when Roger was just about to open the French doors to re-enter the villa, five condoms full of milk flopped over his head and decidedly DIDN’T break. He loudly accused everybody watching - just about everybody at the villa - of being utter wankers.

When the laughter subsided, they all wished him a very happy birthday of course.

* * *

“What I still don’t understand,” Freddie said, late that night when everybody else was too far gone from celebrating to pay any attention to them wandering off to the library for a chat, “is why you aren’t talking to your physics friends about this, at least as a concept, to work out what happened.”

“What would I say, ‘Suppose psychics just have a bad case of time travel of the mind’? ‘Course not, they’re all kooks and EVERYBODY knows that.” Brian waved his arms for emphasis. “And string theory’s not my branch of physics anyway.”

“But suppose it advanced the field? Not that I want you gone, old man, I’m getting used to you.”

“It’s a chaotic system, I could talk about a mobile phone and even though I don’t know more than a scrap of how it works, who knows what information or inspiration might spring into the wrong mind, and suddenly it shifts the technological balance of the entire world!”

“A phone that’s mobile?” Freddie said with poorly masked disinterest. “Spy stuff, I suppose?”

Brian deflated. “More like a hand held computer, like from Star Trek.”

Freddie looked thoughtful. “Really? Do you suppose whoever writes that is from the future too?”

Brian groaned. “I don’t know. I can’t know. Who would say they know the future and not fear disbelief? There could be millions like me, and even if only a fraction of those who are institutionalized for delusions are like me it could be hundreds or thousands. How can I ever speak of it? I have every reason to be terrified!”

Incongruously, Freddie smiled. With an exaggerated seriousness that hardly covered the burst of delight, he dropped a hand on Brian’s shoulder and said, “I know the feeling.”

Brian started to scowl at Freddie, but paused. Ah. The very definition of the closet. A panopticon that swallowed your entire life, so any misstep or misspoken word could be the one which would spell the collapse of security. Freddie’s whole demeanor of showing everything and revealing nothing, because someone was, truly, always watching. “Right,” he said, “Right.”

Freddie grinned at him. “So, darling! How shall we take advantage? Any infant tyrants we should murder? I’m sure Roger can figure out how to arrange an assassination if the cause demands it!”

“Freddie, oh my god!” Brian fought to keep the shock in his voice stronger than the laughter that threatened.

“Oh, lovvie, surely we don’t want to miss the chance! The future is still in the making, and it’s ours to make!” Freddie leaned forward, rubbing his hands together with a theatrical flourish. “Come on, Brian, give me the dirt.”

Laughter was irresistible, and fears fell before it. Brian couldn’t stay petrified beside Freddie’s gentling mockery, and relaxed. He could see the road ahead, a future that would slowly become as misty and unknown as it had ever been. Forty years or more, he could easily live it again if he’d not be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I first learned the panopticon definition of the closet from poet and dear friend Princess Teacup, whose [Facebook is here](https://www.facebook.com/flurp) and [Instagram here](https://www.instagram.com/bimbomagick_sasquatchstyle/). Eir work is well worth a read, or if you are lucky enough, a listen.
> 
> There's no way I would have finished this story without [Tani](https://a-night-at-the-abbey-road.tumblr.com/) cheering me on. She insists she wasn't a beta, since I did all my own editing, but she kept it fun by telling me what she liked.


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